


Wait For Me, by Gerard Keay

by schneefink



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Ghosts, Time Travel, Time Travel (multiple times)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneefink/pseuds/schneefink
Summary: Instead of finally dying a true death, Gerard Keay is thrown through time.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jeeyon Shim and Kevin Kulp created _a 22-day journaling game about time travel and connection_ called [WAIT FOR ME](https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/jeeyonshim/wait-for-me-0), which mails you daily prompts to weave your story. I'd had a desire but no ideas for a Gerry time travel story anyway, so I decided this was the perfect opportunity!  
> I managed to convince [Gina3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gina3/pseuds/Gina3) to play the game as Lan Wangji from MDZS/The Untamed: go check out [Wait For Me by Lan Zhan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25844257/)!  
> This is an experiment - I'm writing this as I receive each daily prompt, so I have no idea where this is going, but I'm sure it will be fun and I look forward to finding out. (I'm adjusting the prompts a little to make it fit the world/fic, but I'll try to follow them closely.)

It's hard to notice time pass when you're dead. Of course there has to be some awareness of it, so that those trapped in the book know that they're suffering for a very long time – just enough to be able to fear eternity like this, and to long for the release of a true death. But there's nothing to tell the time from, so even if they're summoned five minutes apart it might as well be five weeks.

It's always seemed a little strange to Gerard that often what the End did to people ended up with them ultimately yearning for death instead of fearing it, but he guessed that the fear of immortality was probably one of the places where the End and the Vast overlapped. Or maybe this particular Book of the Dead was always meant to be used by the willing like his mum, those who'd then spend the rest of their undead existence fearing their page's destruction, thus feeding the End for even longer. If it was even meant for a specific purpose, and not just something a crazy avatar of the End created just to see if they could, or even by accident. An accidental drop of evil colors, so to speak.

Gerard didn't know how long it had been since his first death. He could have asked the Hunters at any time, but he'd tried to avoid finding out. It would only have been depressing. He couldn't help but notice the seasons change sometimes, or radically different haircuts, but he tried his best not to pay attention. 

He'd had a lot of practice, so it was particularly annoying that he couldn't stop himself from constantly guessing how long it had been since Jon had dismissed him. Jon had promised to destroy his page, had even ripped out his page already. It had been obvious that Jon hated the idea, because he disliked the idea of killing someone but mostly because he had so many more questions to ask, like a good little servant of the Eye. Nevertheless, Gerard thought that Jon would probably do it. If he didn't get killed first, but Gerard had been honest when he'd told him that he thought the chances of the Hunters finding out about what he'd done any time soon were low. By now they usually only summoned him every few months, when they came across something weird they'd never seen before.

Even if Jon burned Gerard's page as soon as he was out of reach of the Hunters, Gerard had no way to know. And so he tried to settle into the familiar painful nothingness of his wrong existence and tried to be patient, hopefully for the very last time.

When the nothingness splintered around him, he thought he was finally free.

Instead he opened his eyes again in his childhood bedroom, and the crushing disappointment almost brought him to his knees. It wasn't the first time that he'd imagined his past while unable to do anything in the present, though he'd tried to avoid it. There were too few happy moments and too many painful ones for remembrance to be worth it. 

This particular memory was more detailed than most. Gerard could even read the titles of the books on the shelves, and he'd almost forgotten that he'd ever owned some of them. Like a book of particularly spooky fairy tales that had been a rare almost normal birthday gift from his mum, though most other parents probably hadn't quizzed their kids on what manifestations appeared in the stories and how best to avoid or escape them. It had been one of his favorite books for a long time, until it had been destroyed when a Lightless Flame cultist his mum had pissed off had burned down their hotel room. 

It wasn't until after Gerard had checked the bookshelves that he realized that he didn't hurt. He immediately pinched himself just to see if he could still feel anything: it was like touching a drop of water and finding out that suddenly he wasn't wet all over anymore. He moved, and it felt like moving a body, not a ghostly consciousness. His healthy body, before the cancer and the treatment had made him too weak to stand. 

Gerard laughed in disbelief. Now that he'd noticed, it felt incredible. Was he free of the page after all? Was this what came after true death? Visiting a childhood memory? It seemed odd, but maybe purgatory did exist, and some cosmic entity wanted him to work through his issues. He himself had never managed to belief in any greater power, but he knew that Gertrude's friend Adelard Dekker had never lost his faith. Maybe he'd been right! It wouldn't be the strangest thing Gerard had ever discovered, though it was certainly up there. 

What exactly was one supposed to do in purgatory? Gerard's religious education had been very sparse, as his mum had always disdained faith. He vaguely remembered something about regrets, which seemed as good a place to start as any. He certainly had enough of them. 

Looking around the room, he saw his sketchbook lying open on his bed. It was full of dragons, monsters, and strange arcane symbols that his mum insisted he practice drawing even then. Not that they ever seemed to do something, but that had never stopped his mum.

Gerard picked up the pencil lying next to it. What was the first regret from this time that had come to mind? With a shrug, he wrote "Don't bring books on the Minsk trip. They will burn." Not particularly deep, but it would certainly have been useful advice back then. 

Footsteps came down the hallway, too loud to be those of a child. Gerard straightened and stared at the door in dread. Memories of his mum were always the worst.

Just as the door opened, the room splintered around him again.


	2. Chapter 2

When the vertigo passed Gerard found himself back in that same bedroom. It was a later memory, which he recognized from the few drawings hung on the walls. They were all of creatures he could pretend came from his mum's tales, while actually being illustrations of creatures and monsters from books he'd found in the fantasy section of the library. Fortunately there was no danger of his mum recognizing them. 

There were even more books on the shelves, and on the small desk too. There was a new sketchbook and even a history textbook, because his mum hadn't neglected his non-horror-related education completely. Next to his bed was his CD collection, still in its early stages, though the CD-player was absent. 

The only thing Gerard heard was the distant sound of cars. Maybe his mum wasn't home - wasn't a part of this memory, he corrected himself. Though, wasn't there something about purification through suffering in purgatory? If it was about suffering, his mum would certainly show up again. 

Grimacing, Gerard turned away from the door. He hadn't been planning to leave the room anyway, wasn't even sure if he could. Probably showing up here meant that there was something in this room at this time that he should see.

It was hard to remember any specific thing he especially regretted about that time in his life. He'd certainly made plenty of stupid choices, but they all blended together, a grinding cycle of clinging to his mum's world and trying to flee it. After the first time, he'd never really thought that he'd succeed when he ran away. It had been more about the principle of showing his mum that she didn't control him completely, though they both knew that in all the important ways she did. Well. Most of them.

The closest he'd come to getting away had probably been…

Gerard felt under his bed and found the small stack of letters hidden there. He opened the first one almost reverently.

The letters were from Evan, the first real friend he'd ever had. His mum had made sure to warn him of the Lonely in particular, probably sensing that he would have made a tasty meal, and so it was certainly ironic that his first friend had been a Lukas. Gerard had met him when his mum had taken him with her on a visit to Moorland House, the ancient mansion of the Lukas family, and they had both snuck away into the garden. By the end of the visit they'd barely started getting over their cautious distrust of each other, but that had been enough. Evan naturally wasn't allowed to exchange letters, but he'd told Gerard that he had a deal with the postman to leave letters for him behind a bush and asked Gerard to write him. 

Gerard had. They hadn't written each other often – to start with, Gerard was travelling with his mum so often that sometimes he didn't get a letter for months – but it had still been a huge relief to be in contact with someone his own age who not only knew what the world was really like, but who also had to deal with his family trying to push him into a specific place in it. At first they had simply commiserated, and eventually they'd started planning to run away together. 

Gerard still considered helping Evan escape from his family to be one of the best things he'd ever done. There had been a period of adjustment at first, especially since Evan had even less experience with the normal world than Gerard had, but he'd gotten used to it quickly, and he'd blossomed. They'd lived together for a while, and it was one of the happiest times of Gerard's life. 

It couldn't last, of course. Evan wanted to put the world of fears and horror behind him completely, and Gerard couldn't. When he'd realized that he was the tether preventing Evan from being free of his old life, he'd left. Evan had protested at the time, but it had been for the best. Whenever Gerard had checked in on him later, Evan had been happy. The most recent time he'd found out that Evan had gotten engaged, and he was so proud of his friend that he'd almost said hello. 

He didn't, in the end. A reminder of what he'd left behind was the last thing Evan needed, and his fiancée need never even find out what Evan had escaped. 

From the letters, and after briefly checking a calendar lying on the desk, Gerard could see that it was at most a few days before their second meeting, maybe even that specific day. They hadn't dared to meet up often, but once Gerard had discovered just how much Evan missed actual human touch and contact he'd tried to arrange it more frequently.

Was there something about his friendship with Evan that he was meant to reflect on? He didn't have many regrets pertaining to him. Leaving him had hurt, but it had been what was best for Evan. If anything, Gerard should have left sooner instead of clinging to the dream of a normal life he could never have, that belonged to someone else.

Nothing else came to mind, and so Gerard picked up a pen and picked up his sketchbook again. "Hug Evan more," he began. "It will do him good. You, too," he added after a moment, because honesty was probably important in purgatory. "Get strawberry milkshakes together." For some reason it had taken them months to find out how much Evan loved them, and Gerard liked them a lot too. "Tell Evan to avoid Professor Michaels." Professor Michaels had reminded Evan of his uncle for some reason, and Evan had had way too many avoidable panic attacks after his classes. Gerard had a bad feeling about him from the start, but didn't warn Evan because he thought he was overreacting. That had been before he'd learned to trust his instincts more. 

He was stalling on the important part. "Enjoy the time you have together as much as possible, but leave when you know you're holding him back." There. 

What now? Last time the scene had changed almost as soon as he'd finished writing. Did he just have to wait for it?

As Gerard reached for one of Evan's letters to read it again, the room blurred around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerry and Evan being friends was a surprise when I thought of it but I really like the idea.


	3. Chapter 3

Gerard found himself in their old living room next. Immediately he looked around to see if his mum was there. But the room was empty, and from the sound of the birds outside it was early morning. She'd always been more of a night owl than a morning person.

The walls weren't quite as stuffed full with bookshelves as they would be later. There was a green reading chair in a corner, and a small green and blue blanket with bunnies on the ground near it. 

It was clear which regret he was meant to face here. He remembered that chair, if only vaguely: his dad always sat there in his memories, reading a book. Occasionally he would look down to where Gerard sat on his blanket with his own book, or drawing, and smile at him, and then Gerard would tell him about what he was reading. 

The memories were false, of course: for one, his mum had mentioned once that his dad had been blind, and Gerard didn't remember him reading Braille. Gerard hadn't dared ask why his mum, who usually disdainfully called disabled people useless charity cases, would have married a blind man, and when he later found out just how accessible for blind people the Magnus Institute's Archives were not he guessed that his dad had probably lost his sight after he'd worked there. Maybe he'd had to quit because he'd become blind. Once he'd tried asking Gertrude about his dad, since they must have worked together at some point, and Gertrude had said that she hadn't known him well in a tone of voice that had stopped him asking for further details. 

Maybe his dad had learned how to read Braille very quickly, or maybe he'd sat in that chair listening to music or just talking with Gerard, and maybe it had only happened once or twice and had just stuck in Gerard's head by coincidence. As far as he could remember, his mum had thrown the reading chair out as soon as his dad was gone. She'd thrown away the blanket, too, after previously complaining that Gerard was much too old for it. 

Gerard had forgotten just how many bunnies there had been on the blanket. One of them was pink from when he'd tried to color it red once, and one corner of it was ripped, he didn't remember from what. He probably had been too old for the blanket by most people's standards, but he was quite sure that Mary had hated it even when he hadn't been, probably from the first time she saw it. It was way too cheerful for her taste, and in hindsight he was surprised that she even let it into her house. It must have been one of the few times his dad had stood up to her.

That wasn't necessarily fair, Gerard acknowledged. Maybe his dad had had a strong personality too, and maybe his parents had a relationship of equals – at least until Mary killed him. From the way she'd talked about him, on the rare occasions that she did, he'd gotten the impression that he'd let her walk all over him, but of course she wasn't an unbiased source. 

He'd wondered, once or twice, how it would have been if his dad had been around to raise him. For years he'd thought he'd have a chance to talk with him one day, once he got his hands on his mum's book, and he'd looked forward to it and thought about all the things he wanted to say and ask. However, when he'd had the book and found his dad's page wasn't in it he'd been more resigned than disappointed. He probably should have expected it. 

For a short time he'd considered that maybe she hadn't destroyed the page but only hidden it, and that there was a chance that he could find it one day, but the chances were so low that he'd told himself to give up on the idea. 

Maybe she hadn't even succeeded in turning him into a page to begin with. She'd never mentioned summoning his dad from its pages, though then again why would she. If she had summoned him, she would probably have taunted him about never letting him meet Gerard. 

Now that Gerard knew how bad it felt to be bound to a page, he regretted hoping to find his dad still trapped in the book after so many years. Now he hoped that his dad had died when his mum killed him, ideally in his sleep. That would be the kindest way, and his mum might even have chosen it, if only because if the victim didn't struggle the chance that the skin would be undamaged was higher.

If his dad was dead, was he in purgatory, too? Did everyone get their own? Gerard vaguely remembered hearing that the dead met up with their loved ones in heaven, so probably. And his mum – if she hadn't already destroyed her soul, or gone to hell directly, she'd probably be stuck in purgatory forever. She'd hate it, Gerard thought with a certain sense of satisfaction. Most of her regrets would probably be in regards to him, and he was proud of that.

Gerard himself certainly had done his share of bad things in his life, but overall he was optimistic that he would find his way out, wherever or whatever that was. He'd been looking forward to nothingness.

To get there, however, he apparently needed to deal with his regrets regarding his dad, or something like that. He looked around for something to write on, since that had worked well the past two times, and sat down in his dad's chair with a pen and a note pad.

"Dear dad. I'm sorry I never got to meet you properly." 

He had to pause. It was odd that for all the times he'd imagined what he'd say to his dad, right now he couldn't think of any of it. 

"Did you really want to raise me? I'm sure you would have done a better job than mum, though that's not hard. You probably knew that.

Or maybe you didn't, because if you knew her properly, why did you marry her?" He hadn't planned on writing this part, but found it hard to stop. "Were you willfully blind," – he almost rephrased that but then decided he didn't care – " or stupid, or were you fine with what she was doing?" 

Maybe it was a blessing that he would never get an answer to that. After how often as a kid he'd idly thought about how life could have been better if his dad had been there, finding out that his dad was just as bad as his mum, or even almost, would have been devastating. 

But he didn't think it was likely. And even if that was the case, there were certain punishments he would wish on very few people, and the one person he'd happily subject to it would be the one person who'd be thrilled about it. 

"I hope you're really dead and not bound," he wrote.

It wasn't a very good letter, but nobody would ever read it anyway. It was a small note pad and the page was almost full. Experimentally, Gerard put it down and closed his eyes, and it wasn't long before he felt the world change again.


	4. Chapter 4

This time it felt like waking up from a good sleep. Gerard took a deep breath before even opening his eyes. Then he remembered that he didn't need to breathe anymore, and that he hadn't slept ever since he'd died, and that he didn't even have a proper body anymore – though it felt like he did, and having a physical form again was a strange sensation, especially one that didn't hurt. Gerard shook himself and enjoyed the feeling of his hair falling in his face. It was black, and Gerard tried to recall when he'd need to dye it again before remembering that this body, however he'd gotten it, probably didn't follow normal body rules. So far at least he hadn't felt hungry or thirsty, or the need to go to the toilet, and generally it seemed reasonable that people didn't poop in purgatory. He wondered what that meant for things like hair dye, or tattoos. Maybe he'd try it out if he landed somewhere suitable.

For now, he was in a living room. His and Evan's living room, from when they'd lived together. It wasn't big, but there was a reading chair in one corner that Gerard had never before realized looked a bit similar to his dad's reading chair. 

This had been one of his favorite places. For a while, he'd felt happy here. He'd known it couldn't last forever, but he'd hoped that it could last for many years. And even as he'd anticipated this period of happiness ending, it had given him hope that maybe one day, when his mum was gone, he'd be able to find such a place again, a place that was his and people he loved and a mostly normal life. 

He wondered what regret he was supposed to face here. That he didn't have more time here? That seemed odd, after he just told himself that he should have left sooner. Leaving was something he was sad about, but never regretted.

Maybe it was about something small and silly, like the book of fairy tales, or the milkshakes. Though he'd never have thought that something like not getting a cat when they had the chance would be worth addressing in purgatory. 

Following a hunch, Gerard sat down in his chair and felt below the seat. Sure enough, he found a folded piece of paper taped to the bottom. It was an obvious hiding spot, but Gerard didn't remember putting anything there. Whatever it was, was it so upsetting that he'd tried to forget, or so unimportant that it'd slipped his mind? Or had Evan put it there for him?

No, it was his own handwriting. Gerard frowned as he read the short note. "Don't worry so much. Next time, take some time to relax and enjoy being here. Maybe try talking to Evan." 

It almost sounded like something he'd written when he was drunk, or hungover after a nightmare, probably when he'd already known that he'd have to leave. That would explain why he couldn't remember writing it. 

It wasn't bad advice for now either. Gerard leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes for just a moment, just to enjoy being here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time travel is especially hard when you don't know when you'll jump when. I will probably edit this one after the game is over.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to make a minor edit to the ending of the last chapter.

When he opened his eyes again he found himself back in the formless void.

Of course. Of course getting out of here was too good to be true.

Gerard wanted to scream and cry and swear and punch something and beg the uncaring universe to be released, but he knew it would all be for nothing. He sunk to the part of the void that acted as a floor, hid his face in his hands and tried to think of nothing at all.

It didn't work. Thoughts and images chased each other, mostly of the places he'd just left – of the places he thought he'd been, because he was still here, so he must have imagined everything else. He was never going to get out of here. He didn't know what had happened to Jon, or if he'd even done anything, but nothing had changed.

That wasn't entirely true, Gerard eventually realized. He wasn't in pain anymore. The constant feeling of being fundamentally "wrong" had disappeared. There was just the void around him, but it was neutral now. 

Had Jon done anything? Or was this just what true death looked like: a formless void, interspersed with memories? Maybe it really was purgatory, but he'd gotten a break to reflect on what he'd seen.

He almost didn't want to let himself start to hope. But what else was there? He'd tried giving in to despair before. It hadn't changed anything, and it hadn't lasted. 

So maybe this was just a brief break. Maybe all he had to do was wait until he'd be somewhere else again. He let his head fall on his knees and hoped.

Eventually he felt something shift around him, and when he opened his eyes again he was in a kitchen. He leaned against the cupboards and just breathed.

After an undetermined amount of time he straightened again and looked around. It was the small kitchen of his and Evan's apartment, where they'd learned how to cook together. Evan had been even worse than him at first because at Moorland House all the cooking was done by servants. They never made anything particularly fancy, but after a while they'd figured out the basics and had a surprisingly large repertoire of dishes. 

Gerard could have made them himself after he'd returned to Pinhole Books, but he never felt like it.

There was a calendar hanging in the kitchen. Apparently Evan had classes and Gerard was at work. 

He'd started working at a bakery, Gerard remembered. They'd both brought some money with them when they'd left, but long-term they'd need to earn more, and so he'd applied for the first job listing he'd seen, which turned out to be at a small bakery and coffee shop not too far from the university. (Technically the second job listing, but he'd quickly decided that working in an esoteric shop was not for him.) It had been strange. His coworkers had been nice, the pastries delicious, and the hours and pay not too bad, but he'd struggled watching all of their customers. Every once in a while, much too often, someone would come in clearly Marked, and Gerard could do nothing but serve them. Except sometimes he couldn't resist trying to talk to them, to help. He thought that he'd managed to help, at least he hoped, but some others had apparently found him creepy and reported him, and he'd lost the job only a few months later. 

He did regret that. It had taken him a while to find something else. Gerard wandered out into the living room and found his sketchbook there again. Reflecting on his regrets.

"It sucked that I got fired. I like to imagine that some of the people I talked to did manage to escape because of it, but maybe that's just wishful thinking, and anyway I'll never know. Maybe I should have tried being more polite, but most of them didn't want to listen. Maybe I should have just let them be?" He would have kept his job. But this was about regrets, and he would have regretted not trying to help even more. "On the other hand, what if some of them did listen. I like to think that it was worth it."

Gerard doodled a small cup of tea in a corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to DD for really wanting to see Gerry in a coffeeshop AU.


	6. Chapter 6

Before the doodle was finished he found himself back in the void. Was this a waystation of sorts? He tried to remember how long he'd spent here last time before landing in another memory, but time still had no meaning in this place. There was nothing to do for him but wait. Without the constant pain it wasn't even that awful.

Gerard wondered where he would arrive next. So far the memories hadn't been in any order he could perceive, so as far as he knew he could arrive at any time in his life. He almost thought that he could see blurry scenes from his life floating on a timeline through the nothingness, and he almost reached out to touch them before changing his mind. He didn't want to interfere if there was a plan.

That might change later if he found out what the plan was. As much as he would like to believe that Adelard Dekker had been right all along and he was in a divinely established afterlife, he couldn't entirely rule out that it was one of the Fears playing some kind of twisted game. Gerard didn't know how that would even work with him trapped as a page, but it wasn't impossible. Some servants of the Fears, like the imposter Gertrude called the NotThem, were capable of changing reality to an astounding degree, so it wasn't much of a leap to think that they could even affect a ghost bound to a Leitner. The Spiral seemed the likeliest candidate; it could be the Eye too, though it hadn't tried to ensnare him in that way since he got his tattoos. So far, however, there had been no fear in the places he'd visited, and even his pain had vanished. He couldn't see how it'd serve the purpose of any of the Fears. 

Even if it was the Spiral, or the Eye: what could they do to him that was worse than what his existence had been like before? If they destroyed him, he'd still be grateful, and if the goal was eternal torture, well, at least it would bring some variety.

If only someone would succeed in destroying that stupid book.

The void splintered, and Gerard found himself in his bedroom again. From a quick look around he guessed that it was from when he'd been in his early twenties, shortly before his mum bound herself to the book. Yeah, no big mystery which regret to face here. 

Even in hindsight he couldn't blame himself for how he'd reacted when he'd seen her do it. He'd seen many gruesome things, but the sight of his own mum in the process of skinning herself had been worse, and there had been blood everywhere… 

Gerard shook his head to dispel the image and reached for his sketchbook. "I should have tried to get the book away from her sooner," he wrote. "I didn't know what she was planning, but I knew she was still experimenting with it and I knew it couldn't be good. It's not like her revenge could have been worse than what actually happened, and maybe I would finally have managed to get away for good." 

It was a nice fantasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I want to write the AU where Gerry travels back in time, manages to stop Mary from completing the ritual, spends the next several years in prison for her murder (and gets cured of cancer), and then sends a letter to the new Head Archivist…


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the end notes for chapter warnings.

He was still thinking of how he could have gotten away from his mother when his surroundings shifted again, and he found himself in a small shack.

"That is not what I meant," he said out loud. The foam on the wall swallowed his voice.

The room, which seemed even more cramped to him now than as a teenager, was empty, but some of his things were lying in a corner on the floor. He'd brought one rucksack with him and Caroline Mancini had insisted that he fill it with useful things.

She'd been a Hunter who'd owed his mum a debt. He must have annoyed his mum somehow, or maybe she just thought it would be a good experience, but she told Caroline to let Gerard accompany her on a Hunt. Caroline had agreed, and the look on her face had told Gerard that he had better impress her fast if he didn't want to end up as bait.

He had ended up as bait, but at least it hadn't been fatal. Caroline had been hunting a servant of the Dark who'd been aware of her pursuit and had led her on a chase through construction sites and warehouses and even, on one memorable occasion, through the woods at night. Finally she'd managed to track them to a car park where she could secure the entrances, and she'd sent Gerard in. 

The target, whose name or face Gerard never knew, had taken the bait. They'd liked to play with their food and had enjoyed snuffing out his light sources one by one. But they had forgotten one, and Gerard had won the necessary few seconds for Caroline to arrive by setting himself on fire. 

It hadn't been the worst burn of his life – that had been when he'd confronted Diego Molina – but at the time it'd been the worst pain he'd ever experienced, and the lack of treatment in the immediate aftermath didn't help. Caroline hadn't given him time to prepare that night and so he'd put motor oil on his clothes as a last resort, and it had worked, but there would have been better ways to go about it. He definitely regretted not using those.

"I should have looked up safer ways to set myself on fire," he wrote in his sketchbook. Fittingly, it was full of dark monster figures. "Or, even better, I should have used hairspray or something like that. Or at least cold water, wash clothes, and burn cream, but the goal should have been not to have to set myself on fire." That was generally a reasonable goal, and he should have thought about it more carefully before his confrontation with Diego Molina too. "And I should have looked up where the nearest phone box was," he added, because Caroline certainly wasn't interested in getting him medical attention. 

His mum had used Caroline's skills a few more times in later years, until she had been ripped apart by a Fairchild, or so the rumors said. There had been worse Hunters – at least the vast majority of Caroline's victims had been actual monsters – but Gerard had still not been sorry to hear of her death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: self-immolation


	8. Chapter 8

Fortunately Caroline's shack faded quickly into nothingness as soon as Gerard put the pen down again, and he settled in to wait for the next memory. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but the void seemed less empty: he could almost hear familiar voices, and out of the corner of his eyes he thought he could almost glimpse familiar places or faces. He reached out a hand, and it was almost like he could feel something, touch something. Something soft.

It felt like a fall forward, and he instinctively reached for something to hold onto before realizing what it was. The Duchess flailed in protest when he gripped her too hard and Gerard let go of her immediately, raising his hands in apology. She ran behind a chair and angrily stomped the ground.

"Sorry," Gerard said. "I didn't mean to." He sat down on the ground and hoped.

Getting a bunny had been his idea. Evan had wistfully recalled that he'd never been allowed a pet, and the next day Gerard had dragged him to a shelter, where Evan had immediately fallen in love with a silky-haired bunny that its previous owner, a kid whose parents hadn't been pleased about the unexpected Christmas present from grandma, had named the Duchess of Bunnington. The name had stuck. Fittingly, the Duchess was quite spoiled when it came to food, but she was also very cuddly and always willing to be held and pet. The first few weeks Gerard had hardly ever seen Evan without her. 

It took several minutes, but eventually the Duchess deigned to come near him again. "Sorry I don't have any treats," he murmured as he sat her in his lap. She twitched, but then settled. Gerard stroked her fur. 

He'd had to leave her behind when he left Evan, of course. He didn't want to imagine what his mum would have done if he'd brought a rabbit home, but it would probably have involved her entrails. The Duchess's, not his mum's. And it was a comfort to know that he didn't leave Evan to live on his own. He'd known that Evan was safe from the Lonely at that point, he had friends and an entire life he loved, but it was still nice not to be the only person in a flat. Evan had always liked talking to the Duchess. Gerard had liked sitting on the couch with one hand stroking her back while listening to music and/or drawing, and with a few treats she could usually be persuaded to stay for a while. 

Gerard looked around, and as he'd expected, his sketchbook was lying on the couch. Holding the Duchess carefully – she twitched in protest, but didn't try to wiggle free – he shifted over to the couch and placed her next to him. Then, as he'd done so many times before, he started drawing her.

He didn't notice time passing. When he'd made two drawings and a few smaller sketches, the Duchess finally had enough and hopped to the floor, staring at him accusingly. With a grin, Gerard obediently got up to fetch a few treats and then watched her chase them as he threw them around the room. 

When he had thrown all of them, he remembered the sketchbook and what he usually wrote in it. He found it hard to focus on any regrets. He didn't regret that he left her with Evan. Maybe that he didn't have more time with her? Mostly he was glad about the time he did have with her. He'd wanted a pet for Evan, and only afterwards he'd found out how much he himself enjoyed having one. 

Writing about tiny regrets felt like making them a bigger deal than they were. And this memory only impacted him, nobody else. It seemed like a weird choice for purgatory, if that's what this was. Wasn't it supposed to lead to purification? He wasn't sure how writing about missing his bunny would help with that. Either he'd misunderstood, which was definitely possible, or it was a different afterlife, or it was something else altogether. 

Not that it mattered much, he reminded himself. He put the pencil down and then hesitated again, remembering that he was usually pulled away after writing something down. Instead, he put the Duchess on his lap again. 

Eventually, however, he felt like he'd savored the memory to its fullest. Still petting the Duchess, he wrote: "You were the best bunny we could have wished for, and yes, you did deserve many more treats. Sadly, if you got all the treats you deserved you would have become much too fat, and then what would the citizens of Bunnington think?" He drew a quick crown on one of the drawings. Then, on the bottom of the page, he wrote: "Thank you for the cuddles and companionship," feeling only a little bit silly. "Sorry for being so sentimental today, Your Grace," he said out loud, sketching a small bow. 

The Duchess forgave him with a dignified twitch of her nose. 

A key turned, and the front door opened. "Hi," Evan called, as he always did, to see if Gerard was home. 

Gerard opened his mouth, but the words were stuck in his throat. Moments later, he was pulled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerry can have happy things sometimes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep becoming more creative with my prompt interpretations.

When he arrived in a new place Gerard immediately knew that it was wrong. 

This was no memory of his. Empty fields stretched all around him, with only large dead roots sometimes breaking up the monotony, and through them led winding paths. The very air felt bleak and lifeless and yet familiar, too. In the distance he saw a figure, and he thought he heard them sobbing. There was nobody else, and yet Gerard was sure that he was being watched. The sky was a uniform grey, and it was looking at him. 

Gerard had felt the Eye's gaze often, and yet it had never felt like this. It had always called to him, knowing how to tempt him, and eventually he'd put its symbols on his body half for protection and half to harness its powers. Afterwards being Watched had become easier to bear, and he'd even learned how to turn away its attention sometimes. 

There was no escaping its attention here. He stared up into the sky, unable to look away. 

"You might want to stop doing that," a voice said. 

Finally, after an unknown period of time, he managed to turn his head away. His eyes burned, and he blinked quickly. "What?"

"You already have a connection to the Watcher, I think, so you might be able to deal with it better than most, but I still wouldn't recommend it."

The man standing next to him was tall, with dark skin and dark clothes that both managed to look pale at the same time. His expression was politely curious.

"Who are you?" 

"Oliver Banks," he introduced himself. "Call me Oliver. At least, that's as good a name as any. And you're Gerard Keay, I believe."

"Yes. Where am I?"

"My domain," Oliver said, seeming almost embarrassed.

"Your… domain? This isn't one of my memories." It felt a little like being back in the book: inappropriate, un-living, painful, wrong. Was this another page? Another function of the book?

Oliver shook his head. "No, of course not."

"Then what is it?"

"From your perspective, it's the future."

"The future? Why would I see visions of the future?" Was this the Eye's influence here?

"It's not a vision," Oliver said, sounding faintly surprised. "You're time-traveling."

"What," was the only thing Gerard could say. Then: "You're joking."

"I'm afraid not. I expect it's not the future you were hoping for, but then, you've been dead for a while, so I don't know if you even still had hopes for the future."

Maybe it was a weird kind of test, or challenge, or a vivid hallucination cobbled together from stories and fears. He couldn't possibly be time-traveling. He'd never heard of such a thing. And, "How could this be the future?"

Oliver shrugged. "You'd have to ask the people who arranged for it, I'm afraid. I'm not exactly sure how they went about creating the apocalypse."

"You're telling me that this is the apocalypse."

"Oh, yes. The whole world is ruled by the Entities now. And the Eye rules over them all. For now, at least. Eventually, everything will End and belong to the End."

Time travel. If what Oliver said was true, then he hadn't just been visiting his memories in some kind of purgatory, he'd actually visited those times and places again. That wasn't possible. He'd left signs behind, after all - wouldn't they have changed things? Wouldn't he remember those changes? 

And why would he be traveling through time? He was a ghost trapped in a book, in a single page now. Had something happened to it? What had Jon done with it? 

"If I'm traveling through time. Can I change things?" Everything he'd ever read or watched about time paradoxes suddenly tumbled into his head at the same time.

Oliver shrugged again. "I don't know. Haven't you tried?"

"How do you even know about it?" Gerard asked, suddenly suspicious. "Who even are you?"

"I told you. This is my domain. I serve Terminus. I was told about you – I was asked to give you a message, but I was curious, and so I decided to come and meet you. I very rarely get visitors these days, or see anyone who's not on one of the Corpse Routes." 

"What message? Who gave it to you?"

"I was supposed to tell you that you're time-traveling, and I've done that. I'm not sure I should tell you who told me, and I really don't want to make him angry. Sorry." 

"Very helpful." 

"It wasn't my idea. He also told me you might want to give me a message, though I'm not sure what about."

"Are you my sketchbook?" Gerard asked in disbelief.

"Nobody has asked me that before," Oliver said with raised eyebrows.

"I usually stay in a place – or time, I suppose – until I write a note. I don't see a sketchbook around here, though. So will I leave once I've given a message to you?"

"I don't know. I'm not even sure I could keep you here if I wanted. You're marked by the End and the Eye both, which I've never seen before. It's interesting. I've never seen what you are, either."

"You're an avatar of the End," Gerard said, suddenly realizing what that could mean. "Could you let me truly die?" 

"Hmm." Oliver looked him over carefully. "I think I could create a Corpse Route for you. You'd cease existing eventually. I can't control how long the Route will be though."

That didn't sound any better. Besides, now that he knew that he was traveling through time… Gerard's only wish had been to stop existing for so long, but the possibilities time travel promised were tantalizing. Poisoned fruit, most likely, and maybe it wasn't even real. But then again, how could it be worse than the fate that had already been waiting for him?

"Why would I want to give you a message?"

"He didn't say who the message would be for." 

If he could travel through time, and he knew the apocalypse was coming, then… Gerard tried to smother the spark of an idea. It wasn't his responsibility, it wouldn't work anyway, and he was done with this. He was a ghost in a page. 

A time-traveling ghost in a page, who had a physical body during his travels. And how did that even work? It felt and looked like his old body, not too long before his death. 

But even if the time travel wasn't true, finding out how the apocalypse might have happened could still be interesting. Oliver had mentioned multiple the Entities, and that the Eye ruled over them. It sounded like an avatar of Beholding had conducted a ritual that brought several other Fears through with it. Was that why all of the other rituals had failed? 

Oliver didn't seem too interested in answering more questions, but Gerard had discovered other ways to find out information he really wanted to Know. When he'd first looked at the sky, he'd been transfixed, but this time he knew what to expect. 

"I don't think you should…" Oliver started.

Gerard looked up at the sky and tried to Know what had happened.

The weight of it threw him to the ground. If every other time he'd Asked he'd received a trickle of knowledge, this time it was a torrent that knocked him over, overwhelming his mind with images and words and information that he had no way to comprehend. The only thing he could make out clearly was a single voice chanting: _"You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right..."_

He covered his ears with his hands, but the invocation continued. Its culmination felt like being struck by lightning. 

"I did tell you not to do that," he heard Oliver say.

"That was Jon," Gerard eventually managed to say, his voice hoarse. 

"Yes. The Archive. Terrifying, isn't he? I was almost certain that he'd destroy me, but in the end he decided to let me be."

"I didn't think he'd… do that." Had Gerard misjudged him so completely? No, he didn't think so. Something drastic must have happened to change him..

"Neither did I. To be honest I'm not sure if I'd have helped him wake up, if I'd known."

"Wake up?"

"He was in a coma for a while."

"Ah." That could change a person. But this much?

"Do you have your message?" Oliver reminded him.

"Ah. Yes." 

A message. To persons unknown, at an unknown time. Wonderful. Afterwards he'd presumably go back to the void, and right then that sounded wonderful. His head was still buzzing with everything he'd gotten from the Eye.

He'd just pretend he was sending a message to himself, that had worked in the past. "If this is really time travel, why didn't I tell myself that earlier? If I had known earlier, I could have changed things." He could have told his dad to leave before his mum killed him, for example. He could have talked to Evan again. He already knew that he was going to look back at every single previous "memory" and wonder what he could have done. "I'm not sure yet if I can, but I'll definitely try. And if that means this future never happens and nobody ever gets this message, even better."

"Are you finished?" Oliver asked.

Gerard nodded, and in the same moment his surroundings disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a jump to the future, Gerry gets a clue, and actual dialogue! And hints of a plot - I have ideas, but it depends on where the prompts lead. There are several other people I would love to have an opportunity to have him meet (like a young Gertrude), and things could get interesting now that he'll actively try changing the timeline...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My prompt interpretations are not getting less loose.

He found himself in a small hotel room, and a quick look out the window told him that he was in Rome. He'd only been in Rome once, on a spontaneous Italy trip shortly after finding out that his mum's ritual hadn't failed completely. When she had faded for the first time he'd locked the book in a box, threw it in the Thames, and left the country. 

He'd come back after two weeks to find his mum already waiting for him, and she'd been pissed. Still, it was the closest thing to a vacation he'd had in a long time. Any other time he'd be pleased to reminiscence. 

Now he took his sketchbook from his bag lying on the floor, unsurprised to find it there. He sat down at the small desk and tried to remember what he could have changed already. 

He'd told a younger him not to bring his books on a certain trip: if younger him had even listened, that wouldn't have had much of an effect. 

He'd told himself to hug Evan more, which would be nice but not important on a larger scale either. 

He'd written a letter to his dad – had his dad actually read it? Gerard didn't know how his dad would have reacted to a letter from someone claiming to be his son that made it obvious they expected him to die soon, but he didn't write down any concrete warnings. Even if his dad had tried to get away, it was doubtful his mum would have just let him go.

Next he'd appeared in his and Evan's old apartment, twice. The first time he didn't write a message there, only found one – maybe it had been left by a later him, but then why wouldn't he have told himself something more useful? The second time he wrote about his job, and if a younger him followed the advice he maybe made it a bit longer before getting fired.

But the next time he'd appeared in his mum's house and had wrote something that must read like an urgent if vague warning about what his mum would do with the book. If he'd actually managed to get the book away from her, that would have changed a lot. 

Earlier in the timeline he'd warned himself about setting himself on fire, which would be helpful in a personal way. 

And then he'd left a message for the Duchess, which would be of no practical use whatsoever.

Gerard finished the list of appearances and leaned back in the chair. All the thoughts about what he might have changed assumed that he even could change anything, and that the notes didn't disappear at the same time he did. He didn't remember finding any of them, but maybe his memories didn't change because he was the one traveling through time? Was it even his own timeline he was traveling along, or a parallel universe of sorts? 

He'd have to test it out. Gerard carefully ripped out the page with notes, put it in his pocket, and then wrote a new message. 

"Hi. I'm you from the future – I think. Let's see if this works and I can actually change things. Gertrude Robinson can destroy mum's book, but don't let her keep it, and always remember what her priorities are. In 2014 I died from a brain tumour which I was told could have been treated if discovered earlier, so make sure you get checked regularly. And I traveled to a future where Jon, who became Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute after Gertrude, started the apocalypse." He hesitated for a moment, thinking about how he might have reacted to a warning like that or what Gertrude would do if she heard, and then added: "I don't think he used to a bad guy, I don't know what happened." 

He didn't know Jon's last name, so he started drawing him, but he had barely drawn a line before he was pulled away again. He only hoped he'd written enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was nervous about having him change the timeline too much at first, but then I decided fuck it, let him try to fix everything. We'll see how it goes.


End file.
